CHOCOLATE STARFISH POO-GINA

10: "Do I have to fake an orgasm as well?"
4: "Pretend Harder, Pretend Deeper!!!!"
TOP
3: "Not tonight, I have a sense memory headache"
TEN
6: "If I do it with my stunt double, is it considered masturbation?"
THINGS
9: "Oh yes, right below / above there! Right kind-of there!!!"
SAID
8: "Don't rehearsal-thrust! Performance-thrust! Stay in the moment!"
BY
5: "You take my method breath away"
A
1: "You think this rape scene is blooper material?"
STUNT
7: "I've got dancebelt rash"
HUMPER
2: "You give excellant Foreground-Play"

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PoSt Script
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I finished off Queer As Folk and I'm sad. Not because of the show being done - that show kind of sucked, but I'm sad because I've always wanted to be a HUMP extra in the background. Seriously, whenever they have gay orgy scenes, I love watching the naked extras in the background having awkwardly coordinated fake sex. I think real sex is clumsy and pale-skinned enough, but fake awkward movie sex is my ultimate fantasy. I mean, you're naked, holding some actor spread-eagle with their legs on your shoulders and you're just giving it to them, wheelbarrow style. You're both stark-naked, sweating and, to top it all off, trying to act professional about it. I love it. And I'll miss dreaming about my chance to actually do it someday.

post-post script:
My birthday came and went. (insert your own incestual / gay / bestiality pun right here). I was jilted by the folks I had made plans with that evening. So I had a long walk home. You know those crazy people who talk to themselves and scream profanities / sexual inuendos at you as you walk by them? I think I know where they are coming from. They are surrounded by a tower of not babel, but silence. On my walk home, I suddenly noticed how lonely Minneapolis is, especially when all of the 9 to 5'ers clear out. The skyways are like those eerie hallways cows would travel through on their way to the slaughterhouse. The streets are like a set on some horrible dustin hoffman killer virus apocalypse movie. Occasionally, you'll pass an alleyway of pot/crack smokers, but mostly, you just end up stepping in someone's snoose puddle. If you're lucky, perhaps you'll come upon a nest of used condoms. Who wouldn't start talking crazy if they had to go through that on a daily basis? Besides me, I mean??
Since summers almost over, and I have officially confirmed that nobody reads this fucking blog, I've decided to start pretending that i have a fabulous life.
I mean, Kate Kennedy's blog is amazing. She really lives her life. she has all these wonderful blog-worthy things to write about. Brian Kennedy is too busy making sweet love to his 76 year old boyfriend to even click on his internet browser. Alexa Jones is in Barcelona, finding the rest of the world. Corby Ortman is acting on his emotions for this special someone...My highschool friend Jacqui is taking over Dinner Theaters across the state as we speak. Dave Oppegaard wrote and starred in a fucking movie that already has a legion of underground fans, not to mention a book that is being shopped around. Linda Johnke is running a Starbucks by day, and a cock-fighting, diamond fencing ring by night....Ian is rehearsing his sexy blonde-boy pose for the month of September. Ariane is happily in love and buying a house. Peter Middlecamp is running a nazi-esque but cannibalistically quaint coffee shop in fucking St. Paul, MN.
All of my super best friends are having lives. And I don't have one. I don't deserve one, the way I've been whining. So from here on out, I will start revealing my super-real fake life. Just bear in mind that the next few blogs will say one thing, but in reality, I'll be standing, in my stuffy Calvin Klein Suit at fucking Macy's, watching the hours count down towards my eminent death.